


Of Legacies and Pride

by Svartalfhild



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfhild/pseuds/Svartalfhild
Summary: When he was sixteen, Percy was just as rebellious as one would expect a teen to be, but as a result, he was caught in a difficult position between his tutor’s belief in him and his father’s concern for his future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to creganstarks on Tumblr for all those amazing, inspirational de Rolo gifsets.

Of everyone Percival knew, his tutor, Professor Anders, was perhaps the easiest to talk to.  He understood the boy’s insatiable thirst for knowledge and spoke to him with a kindness and respect that he did not always receive from his family.

It was for this reason that Percy looked up to Professor Anders and greatly valued his company and wisdom.  Besides Julius and Vesper, he was the only person really allowed into Percy’s little workshop.  He even showed a great interest in the boy’s inventions and encouraged them, though his parents were not wholly supportive of the entire pursuit.

“Dear boy, are you listening?” the professor inquired one afternoon upon noticing that Percy was sketching instead of taking notes.

“Hm?  Oh!  Forgive me, Professor.  I have an idea that I can’t get out of my head, but father forbade me from going to the smithy until I decide whether I’d prefer to be dragged to the Temple of Pelor or to the barracks on Monday,” Percival explained distractedly.  Anders crossed his arms and looked thoughtful for a long moment before responding.

“Well, clearly that’s no good.  We can’t have your ideas going to waste, languishing in your little head unused.  Come.  I shall take you to the smithy and you will tell me all about your idea on the way.”  And Percy did, quite eagerly.  He explained how he was trying to create a sort of toy that moved on its own using springs, small gears, and a key while they strolled from the castle and through the main city square.  Anders listened attentively and asked the occasional question, but did not cut Percy off or criticize him, much to the boy’s relief.

As it turned out, having Anders with him was quite the boon, because the smith, who had previously been warm and welcoming to him whenever he visited, had become closed off and unwilling to sell him any materials.

“What’s the matter, Klaus?  Did I do something wrong?” Percy asked, hurt and bewildered, when the smith tried to shoo him away.  Something in his expression must have pulled the man’s heartstrings, because his face softened and he paused.

“Your father said I’m not to let you in anymore.  Says it’s not your place to be hanging around here where it’s dangerous and dirty.  I can’t be getting in trouble with the Sovereign Lord de Rolo; I have a family to support,” Klaus answered very quietly, leaning in so that Percival could hear.

The teenager felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.  So this was what Father really thought about his interests.  All of this was just an elaborate way of saying that his passion for tinkering wasn’t noble enough.  It was too much like smithing and not enough like jewelry making.  It was too much like a professional pursuit and not enough like a hobby.  It was messy and common, unbefitting a de Rolo.

Percy could not bring himself to speak, too paralyzed by the burning, aching anger that had bloomed in his chest, but thankfully Professor Anders stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder and speaking in soft tones.

“It’s alright.  He’s here with me.  I wish to purchase a few items for one of his lessons.”  At this, Klaus relaxed and let them inside,  He handed over Percy’s usual bundle of scrap metal and Anders requested a second, paying for both with a few gold coins from his pocket.

Percy didn’t speak again until they were halfway back to the castle.

“Why are you doing this?” he queried, his gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead of him.  Professor Anders smiled warmly.

“Because I don’t think your father realizes that a man’s capacity to think inventively is a far better gauge of his character than his ability to adhere to tradition.”  This brought Percy’s gaze up to meet his mentor’s and he suddenly felt the urge to cry and pull the man into a tight hug, and he would have, had it not been for the conditioning he’d been instilled with since birth that railed against such emotional, undignified displays.  Instead, he simply gave an appreciative smile.

“Thank you, professor, but you must know that he’s going to be very angry with you.”

“Let him be angry.  He employs me to guide your intellectual development.  That is what I’m doing.”

He was indeed very angry, as Percival discovered that night when he passed his father’s study on his way to his own room.  The door was ajar, letting out an inch wide beam of light and the sound of a heated argument between his father and Professor Anders.

“He is the cleverest of your children by far and does much more credit to your family on his current path than he ever would sweeping floors in a temple.”

“I’d thank you not to decide what is worthy of my son and what is not.”

“If you stifle him like this, you will only make him miserable and drive him away.”

“Nonsense.  He’s a sixteen year old boy who needs to grow up and accept that there are things expected of him, that he has a duty to his family and his station and that society will not excuse his eccentric pursuits as the play of a child for much longer.”

“You speak of responsibility, yet you give him none.  You want to make him a servant of the people when you should be grooming him to be their leader.  He may be your third child, but imagine how much more Whitestone would prosper with a sovereign who is the cleverest in his deals and totally willing to step into the mud beside his subjects, who has the capacity to think of new ways to improve the daily lives of everyone in Whitestone.  Julius and Vesper are certainly adequate leaders, but Percival can make Whitestone the shining city of the north.  If you would just allow him his pursuits and set aside your impeding traditions, you would see it.”

“Percival is not meant to bear the weight of a crown.  I do not mean that simply as an expression of noble convention.  There is a goodness to him that few can maintain once they become rulers.  Hard choices and compromises must be made when so many lives are one’s responsibility.  I do not wish to see my son’s purity of heart shattered by such a position.  Priests and knights are free to devote themselves to serving the community in simple ways that have little bearing on politics.  That is where he can shine.  That is where he will be happy.”

“If you care so much about Percival’s happiness, then perhaps you should rethink your position on his interests.”

With that, the conversation ended and Percy had only a few seconds to hastily hide behind a pillar before Professor Anders strode out, looking a bit red in the face.  The man turned sharply on his heel and marched off towards his own study.  For a brief moment, Percy considered following him to thank him for standing up to his father for him, but immediately thought better of it.  His tutor would more than likely be angry with him for eavesdropping if he did that, so he just quietly hurried the rest of the way to his own room.

The next morning, Percy was called to his father’s study and the look on the man’s face was not quite as stern as he had expected when he entered and took a seat in the chair opposite the desk.

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Fredrick began, sitting back and setting his elbows on his armrests.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Have you been thinking about your future?”

“Yes.”

“And what have you decided?”

“Does my decision matter or is this just a formality?”  Percy was careful to keep his tone neutral so that his father couldn’t accuse him of sassing him.  Fredrick scowled.

“It does matter.  It matters a great deal.”

“Then I will be a knight.”  _Like Mother_ , Percy added to himself.  His father’s frown deepened.  He had long been pushing for him to choose the priesthood.

“Are you certain?  Knights have little time for the intellectual pursuits that are so important to you and they must work very hard every day to achieve and maintain peak physical fitness.”  At the last comment, he ran his gaze over Percy’s scrawny frame critically.

“I may not be as robustly built as Julius or as energetic as Oliver and Cassandra, but I feel that I would be much more useful to Whitestone’s knightly order than I could ever be to Pelor.”  As a knight, at least he could have an excuse to continue his tinkering without unwanted scrutiny.  He would have an excuse to visit Klaus, whom he liked to think was something like a friend.  He could study and improve the city’s defenses as well.

There was little he could do as a priest.  He was not particularly religious and he was not at all skilled in comforting people the way a priest of Pelor would be expected to.  It would be awfully boring and of no help to anyone really.

“That is not the choice I would recommend, Percival, but I can see that you are determined to defy me, so I will allow it, for now, with the hope that you will learn something from it,” Fredrick relented with a sigh.  Percy was admittedly shocked that he’d given up so easily, though he supposed this might be yet another thing he had Professor Anders to thank for.

“Thank you, father,” he replied, unable to stop himself from smiling a little as he was dismissed.

“Percival,” Fredrick called as Percy reached the door and he turned back.

“Yes?”

“I know you think I’m old fashioned and far too strict.  I know you don’t take much stock in anything I say.  But I want you to know that I _am_ proud of you, however much it might seem otherwise.  You know your own mind and that is no small thing.  Do not let that be compromised by me or Professor Anders or anyone.  Even more importantly, you have a generous heart and while that has its pitfalls, it is most certainly not without merit.  You are guided by your love for your family and your people.  You have the mark of a true de Rolo.  And for that, I am proud of you.”

Those last five words would echo in Percy’s mind five years later when he murdered Sir Kerrion Stonefell, Professor Anders, and the Briarwoods and again when he felt Anna Ripley’s bullets pierce his body.  Each time, he asked, “Are you still proud of me, father?”


End file.
